Learning to Fly
by Bookreader525
Summary: In some dimensions, Rick Sanchez raises his daughter. And in E-221, they just so happen to be wanted criminals trying to find the secret to interdimensional travel.
1. Learning to Escape

**Soooo here is my newest fic. Hopefully it works out. And hopefully the science stuff sounds legitimate enough. Just warning ya'll, Rick and Beth in this story are way too intelligent for me to ever understand, so I'm just gonna try my best with their genius lingo and pray it goes well. Thank you for reading and see you next chapter!**

* * *

 **Dimension: E-221**

 **Planet: Unknown**

 **Year: 2000 (in human years)**

With a grunt, Rick wrenches the control lever to the right. The ship lurches in that direction grudgingly, letting out a groan of its own. Its driver winces, and he gives the ship's dashboard a few rough pats. "C- c'mon now, don't let me down."

As the tired vehicle swerves to the right, the continuous sound of gunfire erupts from behind the driver's seat. In the corner of his eye, Rick can see little pink bursts of lasers emerging from the back of the ship, exploding like miniature fireworks in the faces of their attackers.

"How ya holding up there, Beth?" he yells back to the wielder of the laser guns.

"Fine!" Beth answers. Immediately after comes an angered shriek from her, and then a vigorous round of lasers follows. "I think I almost got the last of them."

Rick sighs, allowing his relief to be displayed on his face in the form of a prideful smirk. He jerks the lever up, and the ship's nose points upward. The black, star-speckled endlessness of space cloaks them on all sides. Through the windshield, things would appear almost peaceful. Only the furious cries from Beth and the _blips_ and _booms_ of exchanged laser-fire reveal otherwise.

Just as Rick gets the ship levelled, the chaos behind him stops. The pink and green light show reflected in the windows is also cut off. The back doors of the ship are slammed shut. A second later, Beth walks up and collapses into the passenger seat next to him.

"You got 'em?"

"I got 'em," Beth affirms. She lets out a slow breath, resting her gun on her lap and shrugging off her gear. "Damned if they were persistent, though."

Rick notices her start to rummage in the clutter underneath her seat, and he spares her a glance. He doesn't even have to open his mouth for her to explain.

"One clipped me on the shoulder," she says, grimacing as she peels back a few grimy fingers to reveal a minor gash and a blood-stained tank top strap. "Not too bad." She produces a roll of gauze from under the seat and uses her teeth to tear off a piece, then wraps it around the wound. "Nothing to worry about."

"Of course there's nothing to wo- worry about," Rick says, rolling his eyes. "I've never had to worry about you. Y- y- you really hold your own out there, y'know."

Beth grins shyly in response, knowing that is the most praise she can expect from her father. "Thanks, Dad." She quickly transfers to another subject, using her good arm to comb through her raggedy hair with a set of fingers. "So, are we gonna find a place to stay for the night?"

"Um." Rick scratches the back of his head. Not for the first time, he feels the bald spot beginning to emerge from among all the tufts of graying hair, and once again he chooses to ignore it. "Whataya say to, uh, just drifting again?"

"Drifting?" Beth shrugs, hiding a wince from the use of her lame shoulder. "I mean… sure. If you want. If you don't think that's too risky or anything."

"Eh, we'll be fine," Rick insists. "We dropped off that shit-load of gromflomite larvae days ago."

Beth crosses her arms. "And clearly they're still after us."

He shoves one hand into his pocket, retrieving his flask full of miracle juice. He presses the drink to his lips for a moment, then says, "Th- there's no need to get all worked up over this, y'know. Those assholes are still such an underdeveloped species, it'll take years for 'em to mature, y'know. I'd be g- genuinely shocked if they even have the wherewithal to swallow food and wipe their asses. A real bunch of brain-dead gnats." He then tilts his head back, gladly absorbing the contents of the flask into his system like the alcoholic sponge he is.

"I don't know. I still feel too exposed just drifting like we used to before we were… well… wanted criminals," Beth points out. "Jesus, Dad, I mean— stealing thirty cases of gromflomite eggs was definitely not your best idea."

"M- maybe— _urp_ — not, but who went along with it, sweetie?" Rick points out.

"If they're such a lame species, then why were you so fixated on destroying— oh, whatever," she huffs. "Are you _sure_ we can't just stay with Birdperson for the night or something?"

Rick's head lolls so he can look at her. He still can't get over how strange it is seeing his daughter so roughed-up like this. He knows he shouldn't feel that way, because she's been like this her entire life. Hell, he _raised_ her to encase her heart in an impossible-to-pry-open shell. He raised her to automatically kick the ass of anyone who gets too close for her liking. And yet something still seems off to him— her slender fingers calloused, never-been-manicured nails all torn and ragged like a shitty set of claws. Her thick hair once cascaded past her shoulders like blonde waterfalls, but as the years have gone by she's settled for using her fingers as a comb. Now her hair is nothing much besides a frizzy rats' nest. This still doesn't take away from her face, which remains as youthful and attractive as ever. Not a single visit to an alien bar has gone by without her getting hit on by a few horny idiots with dicks for brains. And now Rick realizes why he finds all this out of the ordinary— it's because she reminds him so much of her mother appearance-wise. Her mother never would've let herself get so unkempt and dirty. She hated going on adventures. And in that way, she had been nowhere near similar to their daughter. Beth, fortunately, got her mother's looks; and, unfortunately, she nearly matches her father in intelligence level. Rick both loves and hates her for those things.

"I'm p- positive," Rick mumbles around the leaking lip of the flask. "Now g'night, okay? Sweet dreams and all that shit."

Finally, he sets the old ship on autopilot, and he reclines back in his chair slightly. His eyelids are heavy like iron and quickly slide shut. He hears the sounds of Beth shifting into a comfortable position next to him, but she too soon falls silent. The next thing he knows, he's launched into a world even wilder than that of the open space: dreams.

 **oo0oo**

 ** _Dimension: E-221_**

 ** _Planet: Earth_**

 ** _Year: 1980_**

 _Crash-landing the ship onto a bare patch of land had, at first, seemed like a lucky strike for Rick Sanchez. His last several seconds in flight had been a blur of screaming and actions taken without any consideration of the consequences to follow._

 _He was getting better and better at actions like that._

 _Zeroing in on their home planet had been easy enough with the technology in those days. It was just by absolute chance that they landed in the correct country, let alone state._

 _The ship was shaking as if it had been seized by a giant, tortuous hand. The vehicle ground up all the dirt underneath it, leaving behind a path of destruction and churned-up earth. Bits of grass and mud flew up around the windows, dirtying the already broken windshield. Even with all this happening, the only noise Rick was aware of was the loud, insistent screams of his wife right beside him._

 _When the haze finally left, he kicked open the door, dabbed around his head with a trembling hand for any signs of blood, then lifted his distressed passenger out of the wrecked ship and carried her across the remainder of the field to one of his most despised places._

 _A human hospital._

 _Any hospitals, of course, were already low enough on his list, but the shitty technology lightyears behind those of alien hospitals put this particular facility at the very bottom rank. If he had any other choice, any other option, he would've ensured that his firstborn child would enter the world in a much finer establishment. Hell, Rick would've delivered the kid himself if he had to._

 _But life seemed to have other plans for him, and thus his list of options was greatly narrowed down to just one: this stupid human hospital in Fuckyouville, U.S.A._

 _Bursting through the front doors, he ran up to the first desk he saw and immediately began sputtering information to the clerk._

 _"Hey, my wife— sh- sh- she's in labor, l- like five, six weeks early. I- I need you to- to- to take a look at her, y'know, make sure everything's cool and shit."_

 _The clerk regarded him with a pompous air, shooting him and the panting woman gathered in his arms an unimpressed look._

 _"We'll take her in right away, sir."_

 _Rick watched as she was loaded onto a stretcher and taken into a back room. Only one thought kept repeating itself in his head: this wasn't going as planned at all._

 _Well, then again, the kid hadn't exactly been planned either, but after a few months Rick grew used to the idea of fatherhood. He pondered the idea of his child possibly having a few extra brain cells than even him, and of working with them on future projects. Hell, if this little goblin was born with a brain comparable to their father's, maybe they could uncover the missing piece of interdimensional travel that Rick was currently stumped about._

 _Or not. This was all just speculating, of course. But deep down, Rick definitely registered some excitement about the whole becoming-a-dad thing._

 _As the number of hours since their arrival climbed, his mind grew more and more numb. The equations and problems he usually boggled his mind with to pass the time were all solved. He started to play with the idea of going to buy a drink, because there was no denying he needed it. Right as this thought struck him, however, a serious-looking nurse emerged and walked up to his chair in the mostly empty waiting room._

 _"Well?" Rick snapped, standing so that he towered over the woman. "What's the deal?"_

 _"Mr. Sanchez, this is news I wish I never had to tell anyone, because nobody deserves to be told this," the nurse said softly. "But I'm… I'm afraid your wife passed away shortly after delivery. It seems she had been suffering from pre-eclampsia, which is often difficult to diagnose ahead of time…"_

 _She droned on, but Rick stopped listening after a while. Now his entire body was numb. He couldn't feel his fingers, or his toes, or his face, or the beating of his heart. It was like frost had taken hold of him, gripping him with an icy set of jaws. He fell back into the chair, staring at the floor with his mouth hanging open. He resumed vaguely listening in to the nurse's spiel._

 _"… we did everything we could to save her. We are so, so sorry. Thankfully, the baby is fine, and—"_

 _Rick sprang up again. "Wh- what?"_

 _The nurse nodded. "You have a daughter, Mr. Sanchez. She is a little weak, but in stable condition. She's in very good shape for a preemie, actually. Would you like to see her?"_

 _His head moved up and down robotically, and he wasn't even sure if he was in control of his actions right then. The switch in his brain was still set at "off." Fuck, he was so tired._

 _He was led down a couple long, white hallways. The nurse brought him up to a large window looking into a room. Numerous newborn infants were inside, a few being tended to by nurses. Rick was directed to a pink bundle squirming near the front._

 _"There she is," the nurse murmured. "I'd call her a fighter, but she really didn't have to fight for anything. She already had her life claimed and she's keeping a strong hold on it. My congratulations, Mr. Sanchez— and my condolences about your wife."_

 _Rick barely registered an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder from the nurse before she walked away. He peered into the window, pressing one shaking hand against the glass. His unsteady exhales fogged up his view, so he stopped breathing for a moment._

 _Never before in his life had he focused so closely on a subject. That unnamed slumbering baby wrapped in a pink blanket was, quite obviously, all he had left. She was the last piece of his beloved wife. She was his only family. The blood roaring through her young veins was the only blood in the universe related to his. That tiny scrap of a human was his sole reason for living. Of all the things he had created in his life, she was the best._

 _Of course Rick couldn't tell anyone this. He didn't have anyone to tell, anyway. But as his grubby fingers continued smudging the glass, he knew that he, too, was all she had. And the pressure that placed on his shoulders was overwhelming._

 **oo0oo**

 **Dimension: E-221**

 **Planet: Unknown**

 **Year: 2000**

"Dad! Wake up."

Rick groans as he wakes, gradually becoming more aware of the abuse his shoulder is currently suffering. The sour glare he wears on his face does nothing to deter Beth from her prodding.

"Fuckin' hell, Beth, what do you want? I already t- told you what to do if we're about to be sucked into a black hole. Hit the— _urp_ — gas."

"No, this is really important. C'mon."

He fully opens his eyes, and finds his daughter fully clad in her gear, with extra padding on her injured shoulder. "What?" he grunts. He feels the fingers of his left hand close on something cool and metallic, and half-grins as he drags that hand to his face and finds that he's already holding the flask.

"Put that down," Beth hisses suddenly, swiping the nearly-empty container away from him. It falls on the floor of the ship with an eardrum-piercing _clang_.

"Christ, Beth, I'm awake. What is it?" He struggles to sit up in the chair as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes.

Her cool blue gaze, which matches his atom for atom, are wide and excited. "I couldn't really sleep last night, so I decided to try and work on the whole interdimensional travel issue. And guess what I found out?"

"That it's im— _urp_ — possible and we've been wasting our lives thus far?"

" _No_ ," she says sharply, her irritation at his flippant attitude masked by enthusiasm. "Look, Dad. You messed up your math here." She thrusts a battered notebook in his face, one finger repeatedly jabbing at a page marred with layers of eraser marks. "Just hear me out, okay? We already know to create wormholes into other dimensions, but keeping them open long enough to get through them— that's the part you messed up on!" Rick blinks hard several times until the scribbled writing on the page is legible. "You miscalculated the amount of negative energy needed, Dad. Right here." Her finger travels up the page to an earlier portion of the problem. "So this means—"

At last Rick fully sits up, catching on to her excitement and snatching the notebook out of her hands. "Th- th- this means— this means we're one step closer!" He slams the open notebook onto the dashboard, scanning over it meticulously with narrowed eyes. "Holy shit, Beth. Th- this is big."

"Yeah?"

"Hell fuckin' yeah." His hands are a blur as they hit various controls on the dashboard to bring the old ship back out of autopilot. "How about we land somewhere, get this old piece of shit fixed, and—"

"— and make interdimensional travel possible?" Beth asks. Her voice is so high-pitched from elation, it comes out as a squeak.

Rick sucks up some drool and plugs in some coordinates. "Maybe, sweetie. Maybe." Then he steers the ship down toward a distant planet.


	2. Learning to Land

**Thanks for the feedback! Please continue letting me know your thoughts. I'm excited for this one. Any mistakes are the result of me rushing like a madwoman, and will be edited out later. (Sorry!)**

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 **Dimension: E-221**

 **Planet: Klutone-58**

 **Year: 2000**

Rick lands the ship swiftly, letting it glide over the planet's surface for a few moments before jerking the control downward. The tired vehicle releases a reluctant whine as it comes to rest haphazardly against a pile of weird junk. Its final sign of life is a puff of exhaust from under its hood.

Beth leans forward over the dashboard, biting her lip. "Um… that doesn't look good."

"I told ya, sweetie, it's dead." Rick kicks open his door, and the usual chorus of glass bottles shattering deafens them for a second. He strides around to the front of the ship, then gives it an irritated kick in its metal flank for good measure. All gestures of affection he showed towards it earlier are now forgotten. "Good for shit. Might as well just l- leave it here on the shit pile, where it belongs." Beth shoots him a look, one brow arched, and he adds, "'Cause it's shit. And shit belongs on the shit pile. 'S the plain truth, Beth."

"But you said we would get it fixed not even five minutes ago!" she protests.

All he offers her is an unapologetic shrug. "Five minutes really can change someone, y'know. In just f- five minutes, I made a fan-fuckin'-tastic discovery, Beth."

She starts to slide out of her seat, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "What's that, Dad?"

"I discovered that this"— he kicks the ship— "is"— kicks it again— "shit." One more time, he drives the toe of his shoe against the useless vehicle's body. A sharp _clang_ reverberates down his spine as a result, and a significant dent is now present in the trashed metal. Rick scowls at his pointless handiwork before turning away and stalking forward.

Beth, meanwhile, has jumped down onto the planet's surface. She kneels down, studying the ground with a blue spark of curiosity in her gaze. The area is spongy and pink, with small alien plant growths every hundred or so feet. After a short while, she plucks a single leaf free from its orange stem and drops it in a plastic bag, which she then slides into a pocket of her bag. She jogs a little to catch up to her father, who has already put a great distance between himself and the damned ship.

"Hey! Just where did you land us?"

Rick doesn't even turn around, just keeps marching onward to civilization. He already has his detection device out and he hits a button to scan their surroundings. A few seconds pass in tense silence, then he goes, "Klutone-58. A planet composed of semi-solid porous material, looks like"— once again, he swings his leg, this time at the ground so that a few chunks of the spongy floor fly up— "cellulose— _urp_ — o- or something similar. And likely a—"

"— soft, jelly or putty-like core," Beth finishes for him. At last she catches up to him, matching his fast strides with slender legs and swinging arms. "Okay. And is there life besides plants?"

"Likely," Rick answers, the word butchered by another impressive belch. "Judging by that town in the distance."

Beth follows his lazily pointing finger, and sure enough a cluster of buildings is sitting on the horizon. As they get closer, however, what appeared to be a couple buildings turns into an enormous city brimming with Klutonian folk. The two of them enter the city confidently, but just in case Beth rests her hand on the gun attached to her belt.

Just a few seconds of observation sets her back several yards behind her father. She lets out an annoyed sigh and runs up to his side again. "So where are we headed?"

"To a bar," Rick informs her. He twists open his flask and holds it upside down, allowing a pathetic dribble of whiskey to drip out. "Time for me to— _urrrp_ — recharge and revitalize."

"Yes, because that alcohol just does _wonders_ for your brain cells," Beth retorts, her words stinging him like acid. He shoots her an exaggerated wounded look and she continues, "Come on. This planet could have a really intelligent population. They might know or even _have_ the last piece we need for…"

She trails off abruptly, realizing that her argument is going in one of Rick's ears, bypassing his liquor-soaked brain, and exiting right out the other ear. They've been walking for a few minutes now and are a few blocks deep into the city. A fleeting look up at a street sign on the opposite corner pinpoints their location at Kluall Kluvenue and Kluak Klulevard. Her eyebrows furrow as she tries to decipher the odd language. "Dad, I— I think everything here starts with _Klu_. Isn't that…" Her question tapers off, and her head swivels around again. She finds Rick already halfway down the next block, entering what is probably a bar.

When Beth follows him into the place, she is instantly put on edge by her surroundings. The bar is dimly lit, with a decent number of Klutonian customers— some in groups, some alone, and almost all male— sitting at tables and at a counter in the back. Just getting to her father entails sidestepping around a drunken idiot or two or twelve. She also has to duck under a line of flaming darts being thrown (which are screaming in agony and for all she knows are living things as well).

"Dad!" she growls when she finally reaches his side. She pulls herself up onto the bar stool next to him, scowling at the frosty glass of beer in front of him that is already more than half empty. A quite empty glass sits next to it.

"Ah, Beth!" Rick smirks. "Nice of you t- to join me." He elbows her in the arm and waves his hand at the bartender. "Hey, Lloyd! H- how 'bout a big ol' fuckin' fro— _urrp_ — thy pint for the dumb blonde?"

Beth bristles. "Dumb?"

"Aw, c- c- c'mon, now, sweetie, y- you know I don't mean it…! Can't help your… your hair color. 'S your mother's damn f- fault." Rick's accusation makes her blood ice over, and for a few minutes she can't bring herself to say anything. Any mention of her mother occurs once in a blue moon, and not a single mention fails to make her freeze like a coward. She's always been afraid to ask for any further information, so she chooses not to pry. She can't even begin to imagine the consequences.

The bartender squelches over and slams a glass down in front of Beth. Amber liquid sloshes over onto the counter and she cringes at it. "Yeah… I'll have to pass. How about this for a plan: you get drunk _again_ , and I go try to find what we're looking for, _again_."

"Ssss… s- sounds fabulous!" Rick agrees. He pushes his glass over to hers, uniting them in a clumsy _clink_. "Cheers to that, baby!" Beth drops down from her stool just as her father unleashes an ungodly burp.

 **oo0oo**

 _ **Dimension: E-221**_

 _ **Planet: Bird World**_

 _ **Year: 1980**_

 _Rick was a fucking wreck. His hair was a tufty, untamed mess of tangles, and saggy, purple crescents stained the skin under his eyes. His breaths came out in heavy, labored pants— it felt like he was breathing with a goddamn iron lung._

 _It had taken close to a month to build a new ship to escape the hellhole also known as Earth. The final product he came up with was constructed of pieces from a junkyard and an assortment of chemicals purchased out of a seedy abandoned factory. It barely functioned, but the fact that it functioned at all was enough for him. He just had to get the hell away from that stupid giant ball of blue and green play-doh._

 _Breaking his newborn daughter out of the white-walled sanitary prison had also proven to be quite the task. They finally let him touch her when she was a week old, but already he had grown impatient. Living out of a Motel 6 down the street and splitting his time between the bar and the hospital was not really living at all._

 _His daughter's first week of life was not one of Rick's better weeks. One particular highlight was the lame excuse for a funeral held for his wife. Days later, Rick could still see how she looked in that cheap coffin, a coffin made out of wood that would splinter under the slightest pressure. It was shit, but it was what he could afford. That was one payment he couldn't swindle his way out of._

 _But, damn— she still looked beautiful. They had put her in a navy blue gown probably from the local thrift store. The dark color stood out boldly against her hauntingly pale skin. He'd traced her jawline with lightweight fingers and tried not to think how those green eyes would never get to see their daughter._

 _How fucking fair was that? She worked so hard to craft this life, she suffered to bring this life into the world, only to be snuffed out like a candle flame. Right around that moment, Rick felt like snuffing himself out too with the pistol in his pocket, or the handful of pills and flask of hard stuff in the other pocket. Many nights following her funeral, he would pull out a bottle of scotch or vodka or something good and dump in an entire bottle of insomnia tablets. He would watch them dissolve in the liquid, fizzing into oblivion._

 _But he could never drink the lethal combination. Every time, he would dump it down the sink and spend the rest of the night sitting on the edge of the bathtub and stare at the stained, peeling motel wallpaper._

 _Again and again, he reminded himself of her. His child. His living, vulnerable blood and flesh. She was his sole reason to stay alive. Abandoning her meant abandoning himself, and he knew he was too much of a coward to do that._

 _So, after the funeral, he set to work constructing a new ship. Halfway through the hellish project, he finally got his baby girl discharged from that useless institution. He came in past visiting hours, maybe around two in the morning, and took the bundle into his arms— checking twice to make sure it was the right bundle and not some other asshole's kid— then left without signing any birth certificates. His daughter didn't need any damn social security number. It wasn't like she'd be living there much longer anyway._

 _So, by the time Rick got themselves airborne and far out of Earth's poisonously idiotic reaches, he came to the conclusion that he was absolutely at a loss for what to do. So he turned the ship in the only direction he was certain of._

 _Bird World looked just the same as he remembered. He last saw Birdperson a few years ago, at some reunion Squanchy had organized for the three of them. Then Rick had met a woman stupid enough to fall for him, and the rest was a jumbled dumpster fire leading up to him knocking on Birdperson's door armed with an exhausted mask, hollow eyes, and a screaming infant in his arms._

 _Before long, the door opened and the same old Birdperson was standing in front of him. "Rick," he stated in his usual monotone._

 _"Hey, amigo. Mi- mind if I… uh, come in?" Rick shifted the girl's position in his arms, but that did nothing to suppress her cries._

 _Birdperson hesitated before moving aside. "What are you doing here?" he asked as Rick staggered inside._

 _"Oh, y'know, j- just visiting my ol' pal for a… a lil' chat, nothing major," Rick said tartly._

 _"I sense your dishonesty."_

 _"N- n- no shit, Sherlock." Rick took a deep breath, suddenly aware of how his attitude could affect his chances of having a place to stay. "Okay, look. I know it's been a wh- while. But… some bad shit has happened, a- and I… I kind of have a kid now."_

 _He briefly fixed his gaze on the child again. She had settled somewhat; her nose was still scrunched up and her eyes still wide open. They were a shade of blue that mirrored his, and it caused a lump in his throat every time he noticed._

 _Birdperson maintained his emotionless frown, stepping forward to examine the baby. "Where is your spirit-partner?"_

 _Rick gave a toss of his head. "Gone," he grunted._

 _Luckily his friend did not probe. "How old is the fledgling?"_

 _"The fle— shit, I- I don't know. Around a month old? Month-and-a-half?"_

 _"And its name?"_

 _Rick stiffened. "Her name is… uh…"_

 _"You do not have a name for her," Birdperson told him._

 _"N- no. I… that hasn't exactly been a- a, um, priority, but…" Now he just felt like an asshole. Out of all the crap he had done since she was born, giving her a name couldn't have been one of them? He stared hard at the infant, trying to think of a name that lived up to those blue eyes, a name that deserved to be used by his daughter._

 _On cue, she began to fuss again. Rick darted over to the couch and tried to rock her back and forth. She, however, sensed his impatience and refused to quiet down._

 _Birdperson stood next to the sofa. Any other person just standing there would be doing it awkwardly, but somehow his friend managed to always hold a powerful posture even in desperate situations._

 _"Oh, fu… what does she want?" Rick mumbled, an edge of exasperation woven between the words. He rocked her faster and faster, until a heavy hand on his arm stopped his jerky movements._

 _"She may be hungry," Birdperson suggested. "I can retrieve food. Does she have a preference for fresh or canned worms?"_

 _Rick shook his head. "All she knows is the baby formula from th- the grocery store. But then I ran out of that sh- shitty Earth money."_

 _"Formula?" Birdperson repeated._

 _"Yes, l- l- like milk, y'know. Well, I- I guess ya don't, but—"_

 _When he glanced up, Birdperson had disappeared. He returned shortly after with a bottle of whitish liquid. "This is milk squeezed from locally sourced Shlarp nuts—"_

 _Rick snatched it out of his grasp and began to twist open the cap. "You said it's milk, so it'll have to do."_

 _Birdperson watched him carefully as he began to feed the infant. "I am sorry about your spirit-partner," he said quietly._

 _"Yeah," Rick replied._

 **oo0oo**

 **Dimension: E-221**

 **Planet: Klutone-58**

 **Year: 2000**

Beth can still taste the tang of alcohol in her mouth. She didn't even drink any of her father's bitter-smelling "liquid meds" (his words, not hers) and yet the entire bar had been heavy with the scent and taste of the stuff. The odor lingers in her nose and hangs heavy in her lungs.

She sniffs as she turns a corner, keeping a firm hand on her gun as she walks. She receives a few perturbed stares from the planet's inhabitants, but nobody calls her out for being obviously different. This makes her a little more comfortable and suspicious at the same time. While she likes not standing out, their nonchalance towards her also makes her wonder if these Klutonians know something she doesn't.

At the very least, these people are more accepting than her own race, according to Rick. Her father has told her a few stories about the planet she was born on, but he shares his knowledge about Earth very sparingly, just like his memories of her mother. One of the earliest things she recalls him telling her is that Earthlings are some of the most judgmental beings in their entire universe. She's heard about their "shit medical technology," "shit technology in general, actually," the "corrupted government" and "restrictive laws that treat everyone like the government's slaves." She would call him extreme, but she really has no other opinion to express besides one formed from those expressed by Rick. And most of the time, what Rick says, goes.

Most of the time.

Beth stays alert while crossing another street. Every step is calculated and every breath is timed. After another block, she pulls out the notebook and scans through the completed math problem a couple times. And then she almost smacks right into a tall pole.

She backs up, tilting her head back so she can read the sign high above: "KLUNK & KLURAP," which hopefully roughly translates to "Junk & Crap." If so, then this is exactly what she needs.

Beth slips through the open gate and draws her gun as a precaution. The entire area seems deserted, fortunately. Then her excitement sets in. She races from one spot to another, clawing through piles of items supposedly labeled as trash by Klutonians. So many times, junkyards have proved useful to her father. Now maybe, just maybe, she can build something from scratch out of spare parts just like he has multiple times before.

Twenty minutes later, she is knee-deep in a sizeable hill of scraps and already has collected several sturdy pieces of metal that could form the body of a portal gun. As she gathers the ingredients to success, she draws a rough sketch in her notebook of how the gun could look. She sets down the pencil again to resume digging, and is so focused on matching her concept drawing that she fails to notice the burly hand rapidly approaching her shoulder.

When she feels the meaty fingers digging into her collarbone like an iron clamp, she grits her teeth and is on her feet in an instant. She scrabbles for her gun among all the debris and crap, then hides it behind her back as her captor spins her around.

"Well, ain't you a pretty one," the Klutonian spits with a flailing blue tongue and heavy accent.

"Oh, am I?" Beth bats her eyelashes, lifting her free hand to rest it over her heart. She holds the innocent pose for a few too long seconds, then without warning she wrenches her other arm free. Her leg shoots out like a dart to kick the alien in what is supposedly his groin area. She then activates her gun and holds it to his bulging yellow forehead. "Thanks, hon. You're such a kind guy for letting the pretty girl win." She sticks out her lower lip in a pout, tilting her head to the side. "My, ain't you an ugly one." Then she cracks the muzzle of her weapon against the alien's horned skull.

She watches him collapse, still holding his hands to his sore crotch. A sly smirk flickers on her lips, but fades quickly. Somehow, Rick not being here to witness this makes her victory less gratifying. With a sigh, she sweeps a few strands of hair over her shoulder and turns back to pick up her belongings.

It's so irritating, really, that her father fails to care about building this tool. They have spent basically the entirety of their lives figuring out the math to the damn thing, and now here they are, just one chapter away from the climax of their lives! And still, he fails to give a shit.

She knows that she, too, should just stop giving a shit about him giving a shit.

But she can't. She's too worried.

When Beth finally has all the newly-acquired items in her bag, she starts to head back to the bar. But just a few blocks into her walk, she feels another solid grip on her shoulder and another hand grabbing a fistful of her hair. The hot mouth of a laser gun presses against the back of her neck. She tries to yank herself free, to no avail.

"Stay still, E-221. You kick me in the dick, and I'll kick your goddamn brains out."

Somehow, she doubts the possibility of escaping this one.


	3. Learning to Cry

**One thing I really like about this show is that sometimes, it just seems like they're making up shit as they go along. So that's kinda what I'm doing with this story.**

 **I'm not too pleased with this chapter, but it was about time to post something so here you go. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

 **Dimension: E-221**

 **Planet: Klutone-58**

 **Year: 2000**

By the time Rick finally stumbles out of the bar, it is well into what is supposedly the next morning on this planet. He groans, a small string of swear words rolling off his tongue like a wizard's curse.

He reaches up, patting at the tufty graying spikes on his head. His other hand is supporting his body as he leans heavily against a lamp post.

His surroundings are all fluid and blotchy, a confusing and blurred watercolor painting. His vision has always been subpar, but this is just plain shitty. It's like some type of odd filter has been placed over his eyes. He blinks several times and begins his attempt at a hungover stroll down the street. It takes a good thirty or so head shakes, grunts, and hard blinks to make the world around him semi-visible.

Rick walks a few blocks without incident and he tries to arrange his muddled brain. He empties his pockets, finding his gun and some coins left over from three planets ago. They're about as useful here as plastic sporks are anywhere, so he tosses them to the ground then moves on. Anything that can make him feel the tiniest bit lighter will help, because right now he feels like a solid walking block of cement.

He shuffles around another corner, then another, and that's when it hits him. Where in the ever-loving shit is Beth?

He rummages through the mess of last night's memories, trying to think of when he last saw her. At that bar, probably… she left, obviously… pissed off, definitely.

Rick adopts a quicker pace, going straight down several streets in a row. He feels like a complete idiot right now. In the past, they've had better means of communication in case they got separated, but that technology was never perfect. They usually discarded it after one failed use, or eventually threw it out when it stopped working. With no headpiece or walkie-talkie or anything now, though, Rick realizes he is at an utter loss.

Still he stumbles onward, keeping an eye out for signs of anything that might have attracted his daughter's attention hours ago. She is so damn insistent about this interdimensional travel thing. He figures by now it must be a load of bullshit, so he's learned to suppress his excitement about it— after all, shouldn't travel between freakin' planets be enough to satisfy them? And yet, when Beth made that math discovery…

Maybe it really is possible. Maybe. Fifty-fifty chance.

Eighty-twenty.

And so Rick marches on, keeping one set of fingers wrapped around the cool handle of his gun. His other hand is curled tightly into a fist, prepared to strike anyone who dares to get in his way.

When he feels a hand scraping at his shoulder through his lab coat with furious claws, he doesn't hesitate to spin around and poise his gun at his attacker.

"Hands to yourself, Touchy," Rick snarls.

Whoever had grabbed him is a species he hasn't seen before. This sets him on edge a little, but he doesn't let it show. It has a green, insect-like head with bulbous red eyes and two pairs of harmless-looking lips and pincers hanging off its face. It is fully clad in an important-looking uniform and is also aiming a gun at Rick.

"Rick Sanchez," the alien growls back in a rumbling male voice that makes its pincers jiggle. "I believe we've met before."

"Y- y- you're fuckin' insane, fruit fly. How do you know who I am?"

The insectoid creature shifts his weight from left to right, gesturing with his weapon as he talks. "Oh, you must be kidding me. You're Rick Sanchez, famous across the multiverse for being so… so…" His words abruptly become more twisted and strained, like they're being forced out past a throat thick with fury. "… so… damn… incorrigible and… and careless."

Rick keeps his grip on the gun firm, but his stern expression wavers a bit. "Okay, Jesus, McFly. What're you going at my throat for?"

"They say you're the smartest man in the entire universe, and yet you have no idea what you've done!" The insect's voice gradually raises, making passerby stare at them in either curiosity or annoyance. When he thrusts his gun so that it's pressed right against Rick's chest, Rick wonders if the stupid fly can feel his heartbeat through the cold metal of the gun.

"Th- the _magnitude_ of you and your equally irredeemable daughter's actions, Sanchez! You two have caused a chain reaction of chaos!"

"I- is that so?" Rick asks, leaning into the weapon so that its muzzle is lodged uncomfortably between two of his ribs.

The fly chuckles darkly. "Oh, but what you've done, really, was only push over the first domino. There are so, so many more dominos that have yet to fall. And I think I hear the next one teetering."

The last thing Rick sees is that ugly insect's stupid face laughing out of those jiggly pincers. Then there's an explosion of pain in his chest and a spurt of red under his shirt, blossoming like a rose.

 **oo0oo**

 ** _Dimension: E-221_**

 ** _Planet: Bird World_**

 ** _Year: 1982_**

 _It would be Christmastime back on Earth. Rick sat, inhaling humid air and exhaling regret. What a waste of air, he thought— it was a lungful of air that would have been better off being breathed by his wife. His daughter. Birdperson. Anyone but him._

 _His mind was cluttered with Christmas lights and gorgeous, unseeing green eyes. He wanted to climb in his ship and disappear. He wanted to stay and hold his little girl forever._

 _He thought of Christmas gifts he had received as a child. A bike without working brakes. A belt without a buckle. A card with no money. A smile and a brief hug, with an emotionless gaze that spoke volumes._

 _His ship was really collecting dust now. He hadn't left Bird World in nearly a year. He had no reason to, really. Resources were plentiful and his daughter was not at an age to be jostled around from place to place. Rick was relieved at himself for at least realizing that much. But to be fair, Birdperson had helped him realize it, too._

 _He stood, circling around the parked vehicle. It was lined with rust and from a distance, it probably didn't look like much more than a pile of scrap metal. He gave it a couple of gentle knocks on its dented hood, then headed back up into Birdperson's tree dwelling that he still hadn't gotten quite used to yet._

 _It smelled like moist wood and in his mouth, Rick tasted bird seed. It was a constant and insistent feeling, always prodding at his shoulder to remind him of its irritating presence and gross taste. Still better than worms, though. And grass. Grass tasted bad for sure. His liquid diet, on the other hand, consisted purely of off-tasting bird person rum and some tap water he may've accidentally swallowed sometimes while brushing his teeth._

 _"I sense your despondence," Birdperson piped up suddenly._

 _Rick's neck snapped upward, but he was quick to disguise his look of surprise. His faithful friend was sitting on the lumpy couch, watching some program on a flickering little television set. The little toddler sitting cross-legged next to him was entranced by the TV show, her wide baby blues and frizzed blonde corkscrews only enhancing the plain fact that she was Rick's daughter. The resemblance she bore to both him and her mother was terrifying to Rick. Some days he looked at her and saw a miniature version of his wife, like when she used to plait her thick locks into long braids and entwine flower stems in the wispy hair behind her ear, next to her temples, which were the softest things Rick had ever laid his lips upon. Other days he looked at his daughter and saw himself, when the wild look of wonder on her face matched the expression he saw in the mirror. She was a perfect mix, and he couldn't hate it more._

 _And she still had no name._

 _At last Rick replied, sinking back onto the couch on the girl's other side. "W- well, it seems your birdy-senses are mistaken, ol' pal. I'm happy as a fuckin' clam over here."_

 _His daughter giggled, picking at the buttons on the TV remote like they were scabs on her knees._

 _"Rick, I wish you were more honest with me, if only for the sake of your daughter. Not to mention all of the… words… she has learned from you."_

 _Rick shrugged. "Eh, her vo- vocab's already colorful enough. What's another f-bomb to spice things up a lil', hm?"_

 _Birdperson turned a frown on him that was even more creased and frown-y than usual. "What is her name, Rick?"_

 _"Scout!" Rick's daughter chirped, climbing onto her father's lap and giving him a gentle hug._

 _"Exactly right. I call her Scout, l- like, all the time. See? That's a name."_

 _Birdperson didn't reply, choosing instead to return his attention to the TV with that disturbed frown still on his face._

 _When Rick tucked his daughter in to bed that night, his entire essence was alcohol. Scout leaned away from him, her nosed all scrunched up, when he tried to give her a quick peck on the forehead._

 _"No! Daddy smells icky," she whined, wriggling in the sheets and hiding her face in the pillow._

 _Rick cupped his hand over his mouth, exhaled, and the sniff test proved her right. His breath was sour and stale like moldy bread. "S- sorry," he grunted. There was a pause, during which she burrowed deeper underneath her blankets, then he went on, "So I- I guess you're a big girl now who doesn't need good-night kisses from her dad?"_

 _She made a little noise in her throat. Seconds later, she sat up on one elbow and slapped a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then returned to her mole-like state beneath the sheets._

 _"Well." He straightened, watching the girl fondly for a larger number of seconds than he would readily admit to. Then, finally, he muttered the same words that had left his mouth each evening for almost every day of her life so far. "G'night, Scout."_

 _He shut the door to her room and stood against it for even longer. His face was so raggedy and stubbly, it felt like he was scraping his palm on the rough surface of a road. He slouched back against the door, which shook slightly in its frame from his weight. His head lolled, and his jaw went slack. Then suddenly, it was three years ago again. The 70s were dwindling to a close, and he had a little more hair._

 _Christmastime, and where they were on that stupid lump of dirt and saltwater called Earth, it had snowed. Rick had tracked dirty gray slush into the apartment coming back from his run to the corner store._

 _Kicking off his boots, he called to the back room, where the only light was on. "Got your chunky peanut butter!"_

 _"Thanks, baby! I'm not really hungry anymore, though."_

 _Rick suppressed a sigh, shoving the jar in a random cabinet. He shouldered off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair and heading to the source of light._

 _"Turn off the light, please? I was too lazy to go do it myself."_

 _He mumbled a word resembling "sure," and fulfilled the request. When the lamp was turned off, the Christmas lights glowing in the distance through the frosty window became more prominent. He settled on the bed next to her, and she found his hand easily in the dark. Her skin felt so soft and smooth over his sandpaper-like knuckles. Investing in some lotion certainly wouldn't have hurt him._

 _Rick gazed outside at the lights, noting how they twinkled like numerous pairs of red, green, and yellow eyes all blurred slightly by the cool condensation coating the windowpanes. He felt her head lean lightly against his arm, soft flaxen hair tickling his bare skin._

 _"So I was thinking of some names," she stated._

 _"Mmm… names for what?" he mumbled sleepily, eyelids drooping._

 _"Names for what? Names for the baby, dumbass." Her laugh was his ecstasy. "Okay, how does Grace sound for a girl?"_

 _Rick made a gagging sound. The lights dazzled his vision through the window. "Too preppy."_

 _"Angela?"_

 _"Stripper name."_

 _"Sarah?"_

 _He rolled his eyes. "E- every other girl in her class will have that name."_

 _Her temple pressed against his shoulder. He could feel her pulse warm on the thin fabric of his t-shirt._

 _"Alright, fine. How about Elizabeth?"_

 _Rick woke with a start. He hit his head on the door while his heart throbbed right behind his gritted teeth._

 **oo0oo**

 **Dimension: Unknown**

 **Planet: Gromflom Prime**

 **Year: 2000 (probably)**

Beth thinks about her mom a lot. It's remarkable how much she thinks about someone she never met and knows so little about. But she likes thinking about this mystery woman who somehow completely won her father's affections. This woman must have been extraordinary to have achieved that difficult task. Beth likes trying to imagine what her mom was like, how she behaved, how she talked, how she looked appearance-wise. It is like trying to fill in every missing piece of a puzzle, and every day Beth hopes that she is one piece closer to the complete picture that Rick keeps secured in the impenetrable safe called his mind.

One piece: "Fi- fine, Scout. Jesus. Um… well, she was short." Told gruffly to her when she was no more than three years old, when she begged for just one thing to know about her mother.

One piece: "She had lots of freckles, y'know." Told to her in an airy whisper when she was five, under a sagging roof made of blankets in Birdperson's living room.

One piece: "Oh, fu… s- she liked horses." Told to her in a harsh snap, like a brittle twig breaking in the wintertime, when she was just eight years old and forgot what mentioning her mom did to him.

One piece: "She loves you." Beth never understand that one when she was nine-and-a-half. How could Rick talk about someone in present tense when her mother's entire existence was launched into past tense so long ago?

One piece: "She was an awful cook, e- except for her scrambled eggs. Only damn thing she could make." Told to her drunkenly when she was eleven, over a plate of burned scrambled eggs that they had both epically failed on preparing. Maybe the fact that they were yurtschian eggs and not chicken eggs played a role in that.

One piece: "I met her in a… a Walmart parking lot in '77. Took her to an alien bar that same night. She hated it." Told to her out of nowhere in the middle of an adventure when she was fourteen, while she was watching the purple brain bits of a Zaborbite splatter on their windshield.

One piece: "She f- f- fucking died having you, Beth! Christ. I- is that enough _info_ for you?" Told to her when she was eighteen, and she didn't sleep for weeks afterward.

One piece: "Can't help your… your hair color. 'S your mother's damn f- fault." Her mother had been a blonde. Beth wonders if she has the same eyes as her too.

All of these facts she buries within her, maybe in her heart or maybe in her mind or maybe in both. They are the most valuable thing she has to protect— and if they are inside her, then that means her life is one of her top priorities.

So she upholds a vicious fight against her kidnappers. There are only two of them, and while one suggests just knocking her out, the other remains firm on keeping her conscious. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a gun being aimed, though not at her. Then there's a bloom of green, glowing light. The one holding her jerks her around to face what looks like a portal. Immediately her stomach twists into a pretzel, but she has no time to protest before they push her into it.

The feeling only lasts a split second, but as she passes through the portal all she knows is buzzing electric waves lapping against her skin and gleaming green all around her. Then she's emerged in someplace completely different, and that's when they decide to swing something hard and heavy into her forehead. Stars fizz in the blackness behind her closed eyelids, like the endless canvas of outer space. Her injured shoulder throbs as it hits the floor first.

A concrete floor greets her sometime later. Pain stabs at her skull, tearing into it like a blade. She groans, lifting one hand to support her head as she staggers to her feet.

The raggedy clothes drooping off her body are definitely different. They must have yanked her out of her old outfit and into this orange jumpsuit while she was out, a thought which greatly disturbs her.

"How considerate of you to finally join us, Sanchez."

She looks up to find the source of the scathing voice. It's coming from yet another insectoid creature, who is standing on the opposite side of a thick glass wall with his arms crossed. His voice crackles as it fills her side of the room, and a quick search reveals a shabby intercom in an upper corner.

Beth isn't sure why she is shocked about getting caught. She'd been so worried about being on the Federation's shit list. Splitting up from her dad had been an idiotic idea. She should have stayed with him in that dumb bar.

But she can't let these assholes know of the hopelessness that is currently crippling her on the inside. So she faces the insectoid, meeting his stare evenly.

"Would you like to see your father?"

Her defiant posture falters somewhat. Her eyebrows lift and she gives him a fervent nod.

"Ah, yes, Rick E-221 has had an excellent stay with us so far. I'm afraid he hasn't really been, uh, _speaking up_ too much, but a quiet guest is better than no guest at all, correct?"

She ignores the commentary, only focusing on a door on her side of the glass wall opening.

Two more insectoids enter, both silent and oozing triumph as they bring in a limp Rick and dump him at her feet.

For some reason, her ears begin ringing. She throws herself down on her knees, rolling her father over so she can see the front of him. The deep voice lets out a calculated cackle over the intercom, but the ringing is louder. The sob that tears up her throat, however, is the loudest.

Right under her fingertips is the only other person she had any reason to care for. Just below her trembling hands is her father with a hole in his chest.

If he could just call her Scout one last time like he hadn't in years, if he could just swear at her again while blackout drunk, if he could just _breathe_. If only he could.


	4. Learning to Rebel

**Sorry about the long wait. I struggled a while with this chapter, but I think it turned out pretty well.**

 **Needless to say, I am very upset about the end of Season 3. The finale was underwhelming to say the least, but I didn't hate it. And I'm sure ya'll can imagine I got a kick out of the ABCs of Beth episode. It was about damn time for a Beth-centered episode.**

 **Aaaanyway. I hope you all enjoy! Shit goes down in this one, broh.**

 **Also, remember my golden rule: just make shit up as I go along. That explains a lot for this chap.**

* * *

 **Dimension: Unknown**

 **Planet: Gromflom Prime**

 **Year: 2000**

"There's a lot more where that came from, E-221," the stupid gnat chuckles from the safety behind his glass wall. " _Plenty_ more."

Beth has draped herself over her unmoving father, dry sobs clawing their way up her throat. Being raised by Rick made her immune to shedding tears of any kind; branding crying as "weak" and a "waste of time," he claims he hasn't cried since the day he was born. Or… he _claimed_ he didn't.

"Would you like to see more of the Ricks here? We have a collection of them, like baseball cards. We're the coolest goddamn species in the multiverse with our Rick collection. Can't guarantee all of them are alive, but… we have 'em."

"Shut _up_!" Beth screams suddenly. In a few seconds flat she is on her feet and jabbing an accusing finger in the bug's direction. "I want to know what the _hell_ you did to my dad, and then I'm gonna do the same to you. I'll get a huge fucking fly swatter and splatter you all over the wall!"

"Please calm yourself, E-221. No need to get so worked up over the impossible." The bug leans against the glass, his pincers twisting up in what must be a teasing smirk. "We did not need a fly swatter to take down your father, though I will say he had been quite the troublesome fellow, more so than the average Rick."

She draws in a few deep breaths, speaking in between pants. "The… the average Rick?" A couple seconds pass as more words sink in. "Multiverse…" Her eyes scan the cold cement ground quizzically, as if they were slathered in the same countless mathematical equations as her trusty notebook. "E-221…" She thinks back to that green portal she was shoved through, and her stomach twists. Beth lifts her head again and meets the bug's big red eyes. "H- holy shit. We really are living in a multiverse. There… there really are separate, parallel, or insanely different dimensions! And… I'm from E-221."

Bug-man claps his hairy feet slowly. "Bravo, bravo. And two plus two equals four. You figured that all out yourself? I'm impressed."

She walks up to the glass, averting her gaze from the dead Rick on the floor. "So… aren't there countless other versions of me and Dad that you could have arrested? Why us in particular?"

"Well, of course there are other dimensions with similar copies of the scummy Sanchez Duo. Only difference is, things went a little differently for them. Maybe a wrong turn in your father's rickety space-mobile, and you two end up being incinerated in a star's asshole. Or perhaps you stayed with your father in the bar one of the many times you chose not to, and you two end up never knowing that interdimensional travel exists. Any little wrinkle that seems minor can easily tip over the laundry basket and send everything crashing into the floor. You see, E-221, your dimension set everything up perfectly for us: you took the right turn, you ditched your father in the bar, you kneed that Klutonian in his puny _frijoles_ , and here we are." The bug nods his head affirmatively. "Let me tell ya, it is quite the treat being able to track down at least one of the Sanchez pairs who committed that awful crime of yours. This is… this is like fuckin' Gromflomas right now."

Beth has been listening attentively to every single world, of course, but the last few are the ones that make her perk up in interest. "Wait… Gromflomas? You're… oh my god." She stumbles back a little, horror etched onto her pretty face. "You're a gromflomite, aren't you?"

"Kudos to you! Got me all figured out, huh?" The gromflomite laughs for the millionth time. "Now, how about we— hey, what the hell?"

Beth cautiously spins around— having fallen victim to some of her father's "Hey, what's that over there?" pranks before, she stays tensed— and finds that E-221 Rick's corpse is pulsing with some type of energy. His body glows blue and begins to levitate from the ground.

"Hey, imbeciles! Why aren't you stopping this?"

The question is barely out of the gromflomite's mouth before he is pushed to the ground in a greenish blur. He lets out a yell, but already a laser has sliced its way through his head and his brain is reduced to an oozing pile of clear goo.

In his place stands a Rick, unibrow arched as he holds his laser gun ready at his side. Beth glances back and forth from one Rick to the other, marveling at the sight of two versions of her father in the same room. The same person, same sallow face, same surly personality, but in two separate functioning bodies with capabilities of their own. Just a once-over reveals this Rick has a bit more arm muscle and a light coating of stubble on his chin, unlike the dad she has known her entire life.

A quick twirl of the wrist melts a portion of the glass between them, and he steps through the space to meet her.

"Hey, Beth," he grunts. "Been a— _urp_ — while since I saw ya. Rick E-216 at your service."

As she stands with her arms crossed, the two gromflomite guards storm back in, their delayed reaction made painfully obvious by the horrified looks on their faces. E-216 Rick aims his gun at them, pointing it at one, then the other, and back again. "What the hell were you two d- doing in there, having a quickie?" The guards look at each other, starting to lower their weapons. E-216 jerks his gun forward, rolling his eyes, and then the two enemies raise them again, the two barrel ends staring down Rick like black, soulless eyes.

"Ya gonna shoot me or not?" Out of nowhere, E-216 hits the left guard square in the chest, and he falls to the ground in a heap of armor and hairy legs. The other one stands trembling, repeatedly lowering then hoisting up his weapon. "Well? I mean c'mon, shit or get off the pot, buddy."

Beth studies him, completely unfazed as he kills the second gromflomite before returning his attention to her. "I've never seen you before in my life," she points out.

"Y- yeah— _urrp_ — that's true, sweetie, but you look almost exactly like my Beth, so it's no difference to me. You're not _her_ , but you are _you¸_ so technically you're not her but you also are her, a- and she's not you but at the same time she _is_ you."

"Yeah." She dips her head slightly. "Makes sense." A snippet of blue is still in the outer reaches of her vision, so she turns around to face her Rick. He remains floating just a few inches off the ground, the huge hole still very present in his chest. By now the blood has dried, crusting the tattered stitches of his sweater with brownish-red residue. "What are you doing to him?"

E-216 kneels down next to her Rick and begins pulling some equipment out of his bag. " _Un momento, por favor_. I can try to bring this asshole back, but if I can't then you'll be reassigned. N- no big." He tosses her a roll of white gauze. "Your sh- shoulder looks disgusting, by the way. Put some of that on and the wound'll be gone in a couple hours."

Beth cranes her neck down and sees that she has indeed bled through the ratty orange jumpsuit fabric. She begins to unravel the bandage while keeping a close eye on E-216. "Thanks. What do you mean by reassigned...?"

 **oo0oo**

 ** _Dimension: E-221_**

 ** _Planet: Bird World_**

 ** _Year: 1985_**

 _She went through several name phases. She cringed at "Elizabeth" and opted for Lizzy instead at five years old. She marched around town introducing herself to any stranger unfortunate enough to be within a twenty-yard radius. She would spurt out countless words, all in one sentence and all in one breath._

 _"Hi, my name is Elizabeth Scout Sanchez but please just call me Lizzy, I don't like Elizabeth because it sounds like an old lady name but my daddy says it's nice but I think just Lizzy is nicer, so what's your name, oh and what do you like to do, that's cool, I like climbing trees and pretending to drive my daddy's spaceship, he says I can go up to space with him one day, why don't I have wings or feathers like you, if I had them I would fly all day…" – and on and on and on._

 _Her restlessness was palpable; she wriggled and squirmed whenever she was seated, and every movement was swift and jittery. She talked a mile a minute as if her diet was comprised solely of chirtuan sugar. (Side note: Rick had gotten high off powdered chirtuan sugar back in his early twenties and he woke up the next morning with every inch of his body shaved and three homemade tongue piercings. Needless to say, it was one of the last things he planned to feed his daughter.)_

 _The two of them plus Birdperson were sitting in front of the TV one evening, shoveling in some tasteless mush like it was the tastiest thing since freaking caviar. The flickering screen was showing some old documentary back from when even the tiniest trip into space was a life or death situation. Rick snorted, pointing an exasperated couple of fingers at the TV. "Just l- l- look at this crap. Guy's just going to a grocery store or somethin' on the next planet over, and they're— urp— treating it like a goddamn soap opera. 'Oh no, will he make it there in time to buy his hemorrhoid cream? Or will he… not make it in time?'" He brought another bite of food to his mouth and swallowed angrily. "So stupid."_

 _"Lizzy seems to be enjoying the program," Birdperson commented._

 _Rick spared a glance for his daughter, and found her fixated on the screen with deaf ears turned to him. She kicked her legs against the couch and clinked her fork against her plate, jaw dropped in awe as she watched._

 _"Hey, Lizzy," Rick said to her, but she didn't react. He sighed and tried again. "Yo? Scout?"_

 _She grinned up at him, one eye still on the TV._

 _"Y- you like that show, sweetie?"_

 _"Yeah!" she chirped._

 _"You know what's even better than that? An actual space adventure."_

 _Now Birdperson was staring at him with interest. He had long been voicing his concerns to Rick about keeping her cooped up around the small town. Rick just smirked at him and leaned forward to fully make eye contact with his little girl._

 _"H- how would you like to go on a real, not mind-numbingly embarrassing space adventure?"_

 _She squealed. "Really?"_

 _"Hell ya." Rick hopped up from the sofa, and she raced after him, stubby fingers grabbing at the tail of his grubby lab coat. He could feel Birdperson's watchful gaze on them the entire way down the ladder from the treehouse to the ground._

 _"Where we gonna go, Daddy?" Lizzy demanded as they climbed into the neglected ship. "Are we gonna go see where I was born? I wanna see Earth! Please, please, please!"_

 _"Not today, Scout," Rick said. He felt his knuckles stiffen around the lever, but he managed to keep control as they ascended into the atmosphere. He refrained from adding a snippy "Not ever."_

 _Lucky for him, she quickly took intrigue in other things outside the window. She pressed her nose and hands up to the glass, leaving foggy imprints. He could see the reflection of her eager face, eyes gleaming blue as ever when they saw stars up close for the first time._

 _He decided not to land them anywhere, but rather allow them to drift for a while. He had never felt more safe in space than he did right then, with his daughter in the passenger seat and himself not being at odds with the galactic law for once, what with his recently very dormant lifestyle. But his little Scout— she just shed this aura of comfort and warmth that made his muscles feel like fluid as he reclined in his seat. The dim lighting produced a fuzzy outline of blue around her, shading her blonde locks in odd places. The smile that threatened to appear on his face was far wider than the half-grin he actually let show._

 _And so they drifted, bathing in starlight and relishing the quiet. Distant planets burned brighter than the stars, and Lizzy eagerly named each and every constellation he had taught her._

 _"Look, Daddy, that's the giant soup ladle thingy! Ooh, ooh! And the guy with a lopsided head."_

 _"Mhm. That's right. And… let's see… which one is that in the distance?"_

 _She giggled. "That's the lady asphyxiating on a taco," she told him matter-of-factly. "She looks so weird up here."_

 _Rick's faint smile faded as painful claws gripped his heart. When his daughter turned back to gape out the window, his slightly intoxicated mind generated the image of someone else in the passenger seat._

 _"What the hell…? Where are we?" The woman spun around, her slim face conveying only pure annoyance._

 _Rick could hear his voice, but his lips weren't moving and he couldn't feel the words rumbling up his throat as they actually had not quite eight years ago. "Space, baby." Then came a burp that was poorly disguised as a grunt._

 _"Space? Oh, so you're an astronaut, huh? You work for NASA?" Her mocking tone only made him laugh._

 _"Tell me, honey, have you ever f- fucked in space before?"_

 _"No… but then again, I usually prefer not to screw guys I just met in a parking lot."_

 _Her sass always made him go crazy. He recalled climbing on top of her in ten seconds flat after that. He blinked a few times, watching her fade away and leave their daughter still grinning out the window._

 _Rick exhaled loudly, fiddling with some of the controls on the dashboard. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, striped with patches of shade and light from a dying parking lot lamp. He always made a poor first impression on everyone, including her… and still she'd stuck by him. He doubted he would ever understand why. That was one unsolvable problem._

 _After a while longer of drifting, Lizzy leaned away from the window and slumped against the seat, eyelids sliding shut in slumber. Rick felt close to sleep himself, but he wanted to check something first._

 _Very quietly, he entered in coordinates on the primitive device installed into the cruiser's dashboard. It took close to a minute for it to search and calculate a distance._

 _EARTH - 8.25 LIGHT YEARS AWAY_

 _He swallowed, erased the search, then settled back and let sleep take him._

 **oo0oo**

 **Dimension: Unknown**

 **Planet: Gromflom Prime**

 **Year: 2000**

Beth shrugs her injured shoulder out of the loose jumpsuit and coils the bandage tighter and tighter around it like a snake. Once she has it secured, she slips her shoulder back under the jumpsuit fabric and watches E-216 work. He still hasn't answered her question, so she clears her throat meaningfully and tries again.

" _Ahem_ … um… what do you mean by reassigned?"

The noise he makes in his throat could barely be called a response, let alone an actual word. His hands are moving fast as they rip the sweater off her Rick to unveil the nasty bullet hole. "Shit…" E-216 mutters.

"'Shit?'" she repeats. The beginnings of desperation are straying into her tone. "What does 'shit' mean? Good shit or bad shit?"

Now he bothers to acknowledge her, briefly making eye contact as he explains. "The, uh, the issue is that I was relying on those assholes' bullet not having been shot clear through his heart."

"But isn't that what killed him? There isn't any other way, is there?"

"Nah, i- it could've just been blood loss too. But it looks like this Rick got it clean through the ti- ticker. So there's no saving this one. _Lo siento, mija_."

She furrows her brow and bites down on her lower lip. _Shit_. Now what? "Damn… oh my god." She staggers back, the full weight of her realization hitting all at once. "What the hell am I gonna do? I- I can't be on my own… he's been there for me since the day I was born!"

E-216 snorts. "Yeah, sure he was."

She scowls bitterly at him. "How would you know? You're _not_ him."

Yet even as the words leave her mouth, doubt clouds her mind. She's staring into a pair of blue eyes— the same exact ones her Rick had, the same ones she sees in the mirror. All of her instincts are screaming that this is her father, but her heart knows otherwise. This Rick has that little more muscle, that little more of a five o'clock shadow, and he definitely has a tongue that slips into Spanish way more often than her Rick.

"W- whatever. C'mon, let's go get you reassigned," Rick says as he starts to lead the way out of the cell.

Beth, however, remains rigid. "You won't tell me what you mean by reassigned? What was I assigned to in the first place?"

E-216 shrugs one shoulder. "Every Beth needs a Rick. Or is it every Rick needs a Beth? D- doesn't matter. Point is, you can't be on your own."

"Says who?" she snaps.

"Says wh— wow, y- y- you really must be the most clueless Beth I've ever met. Listen, sweetie, if you're still under the impression that interdimensional travel is th- this elusive and unexplored thing, then ya need to wake up. 'Cause this shit is real, and it's been real for a while. _Ay, v- vamos al Citadel, no tenemos mucho tiempo_." He moves on out the broken-down door, calling behind him " _¡Ahora, huérfana!_ "

"Fine, fine, I'm coming," she grumbles. Her Rick taught her a limited amount of Spanish growing up, so she gets the gist of what E-216 is saying. She knows the basics of the language, but a lot of that knowledge came via self-teaching. She figured it was important to master at least a little, with it (supposedly) being one-fourth of her heritage. Even so, her father was never really into it.

And despite all she knows, she can't figure out what that last word was. Beth stomps after him and yells, "Hey, what did you call me?"

" _Nada_ ," Rick replies.

She grits her teeth, trying to think of the right sentence structure. "You… ah… _tú dices… ¡ya!_ Um… _por favor_."

But E-216 isn't even listening to her jumbled attempt at Spanish. She is following him through a large modern building filled with a vast collection of various alien species, the majority of which are gromflomites. A few guards are running in the direction they're coming from, presumably to find the dead Rick and her missing. They must have tripped some silent alarm, but E-216 doesn't seem too concerned about it.

Multiple times they are approached, but at every occasion Rick turns them away by saying "Rick E-216 here with my Beth. She's been released after committing a mi- minor— _urp_ — infraction to your 'laws.' Yep, that's right, we went to Blips n' Chitz instead of stealing your stupid eggs. Now chill your insectits and move on."

They continue making their way through the place, miraculously not yet caught. Just in case, E-216 discreetly passes her a gun when she catches up to him. They go past a multitude of aliens, some alone, some in pairs or groups, some with kids— she shudders to think of why anyone would ever want to have children— and most of them all looking very glum and bored.

And then, abruptly, a brisk stroll turns into an Olympic sprint. Gromflomites are shouting behind them, and E-216 shouts back as the two sides exchange gunfire. She ducks and rolls behind a potted Flershyn cactus. Rick aims a startlingly-familiar-looking gun at some empty space and a wavy circle of green appears, swirling continuously like a whirlpool. Her heart skips a beat at the mere sight of everything she and her father had been working for, and another pang hits her square in the gut. Better just a pang than a bullet, though.

"Beth! Come the he- hell on!" E-216 screams at her.

She stands frozen, watching him inch closer and closer to the portal. The gromflomites are searching for her very poor hiding place, and her entire chest and throat are throbbing from nerves. The swishing in her ears is nearly deafening.

" _Beth_!"

She squeezes her eyes shut, losing herself for a moment in the feeling of her brain pulsing against her skull like a caged bird, wanting to be set free from this endless chaos—

"No." Beth stands, clears the plant like a hurdle, and nabs the portal gun from E-216.

"I- I don't think you wanna do that, _mija_ ," he says. The gromflomites stiffen and the muzzles of their weapons edge closer.

"You're wrong. I _do_ want to do that," she says back. He tries to grab the gun from her, but she already has a random set of coordinates plugged in. She presses the trigger, relishing the explosion of green that bursts out of it. Laser beams dazzle her peripheral vision, but she's already halfway to the portal.

"Son of a bitch! Beth, y- you don't get it, you need—"

"Don't tell me what I fucking need, _papá_. I wanna be a lone wolf." With that, she turns and melts into the swimming sea of green.


	5. Learning to Hitchhike

**Sorry for the wait. Life is hell. This kinda sucks but please, indulge yourselves.**

* * *

 **Dimension: Who freaking knows?**

 **Planet: Unknown**

 **Year: 2000**

She lands on something hard as diamond. With a pained grunt, Beth stands and brushes off her dirtied knees.

It's crazy how she could emerge onto a dead silent street from the turmoil just one step behind her. She glances behind herself, for no other reason than to really make sure she's not dreaming. She catches the portal closing up, shrinking then disappearing with a pop of green.

Beth finds the portal gun a few feet away, having clattered onto the ground upon her forceful leap between dimensions. She stumbles over to it and retrieves the precious item, sliding it into her belt next to the laser gun she'd received from E-216 Rick. It's a damn shame the stupid Gromflom-imbeciles confiscated her old weapon. That one had felt so much more… _right_ when nestled in her fingers.

It's only after this that she actually looks up to examine her surroundings. And immediately she brings the portal gun back out to see if it will tell her where the hell she ended up. She turns it over and over in her hands, but nothing gives her any useful clues. All that's there are the random coordinates she'd mashed into the gun a little over a minute go, light years away. The black numbers are displayed on a tiny, scratched-up screen that is of no higher quality than the shitty radio that was in her dad's stupid van-turned-spaceship, three vehicles ago.

Beth lets out a sigh tinged with irritation as she nestles the gun back between her hip and belt. That is a design flaw she'll have to fix when she builds a portal gun based on her prototype. She settles for using her good ol' trusty five senses to determine her whereabouts.

Okay… sight. That's the easiest one to use. Underneath her feet is black asphalt— a plain road. On either side of said road are strips of sparse grass. _Green_ grass, too. She hasn't seen green grass since Bird World in her youth. Grass tends to be pink or purple on most other planets. Beyond the grass is… nothingness. No mountain ranges around to disrupt the sky, no trees reaching for the fluffy white clouds. Just straight, even, uninterrupted, horizon.

Scent. She inhales, and is overwhelmed by the stench of tar. Hot, miserable, tar. There's no heat source of any kind visible in the sky, but it is disgustingly hot outside. This only encourages the tar, and she chokes for a moment before regaining her bearings.

Taste. Ugh, the air tastes like tar, too. Moving on.

Touch. Well, the atmosphere feels… damp. She would say moist, considering the heat element, but she hates that word. The clouds above do look a little heavy with precipitation.

And… sound. It seems pretty quiet to her, except for a distant roaring. It's a constant noise, and it's kinda getting louder. Wait—

Beth lets out a cry, tripping over her feet and rolling off the road into a grassy embankment. A car whizzes past her on the road, stirring up some dried-out long-ago-mowed grass that clings to her hair like clothes to sweaty skin. She smacks her forehead at her stupidity and brings herself to her feet again.

"Mother _fucker_ … do you want to get freaking killed? Jesus," she scolds herself.

Beth knows in her mind what the logical thing to do is— she should pull out the portal gun, plug in some well-thought-through coordinates, and go the heck somewhere else. There are a few issues with that, plan, however:

1\. She is unsure whether going through a portal again so soon is good for her mental and physical health. It's quite the thing to get adjusted to.

2\. She has absolutely zero fucking idea what some well-thought-through coordinates could be.

Turns out that, when you want to be a lone wolf, there are some things you should think through first. Like some goddamn coordinates.

And so she walks. It's such a dull activity, she realizes after a while. Beth is so used to running for her life with half her body twisted around to aim a gun, or steering a barely-functioning space-mobile to get her and her barely-conscious-because-he-drank-so-much-alcohol-that-he-might-as-well-have-drunken-a-whole-gallon-of-bleach father to safety. Walking now just feels as boring as sleep— an annoying necessity that is more like a waste of time than anything.

After twenty minutes, it really appears that she is getting _nowhere_. All that greets her is more black asphalt and more grayish sky and more endless, endless road slicing through the grassy fields to her left and right.

She's damn close to reaching for the portal gun again and plugging in another arbitrary set of coordinates, but then she realizes another roar is coming up behind her.

 **oo0oo**

 ** _Dimension: E-221_**

 ** _Planet: Bird World_**

 ** _Year: 1991_**

 _By time she hit eleven, she was completely over Lizzy. Now she wanted to be called "Just Liz." And Just Liz was an entirely different persona._

 _Just Liz was even moodier than her father— if that was possible— and was practically oozing angst out of her every pore. She spent most of her days inside, fretting over an enormous stack of books that fell under every last genre. Hell, she was reading textbooks for fun, not to put herself to sleep. That was something even Rick could never bring himself to do as a kid. But then again, he reminded himself, he and his daughter were growing up with very different lives. Rick grew up in the god-awful, amateur-run, mediocre system called a public school. Teachers would basically shove textbooks into students' already overloaded arms and expect them to learn the shit themselves._

 _But Rick— he wanted hands-on learning. He didn't want to just read about similarities and differences between prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells, he wanted to look at that shit under a microscope lens and drop Liquid A into Liquid B in a beaker and watch it fizz and all that cool stuff. He'd never gotten that._

 _So of course he was the last dumbass who would let his daughter anywhere near that shitty curriculum. But Just Liz was an unusual specimen. She would rather stay indoors and read up on every other unusual specimen under the Bird Sun than go out and experience that stuff in real life._

 _Rick wondered where that curious, outgoing five-year-old went._

 _"Yo, Scout," he said one afternoon as he poked his head into her room. The door was locked, but a quick paper clip hack had done the trick._

 _"What the hell, Dad? I locked the door. And don't call me that," she mumbled from behind a hearty volume detailing "The Rules and Wonders of Calculus."_

 _"W- would you rather I call you Elizabeth? And don't fucking swear under my roof."_

 _"It's not your roof," she pointed out matter-of-factly._

 _Rick groaned loudly. "Fine. Don't f- fucking swear under Birdperson's roof, okay? That guy is l-l- like super sensitive, y'know."_

 _All he got in return was a head-toss from behind that enormous book. If she was like this now, it was a long and hellish road ahead to thirteen._

 _"Um… do you maybe, uh, wanna… go exploring or something?" he asked after a few long moments of quiet._

 _"No."_

 _"You sure?"_

 _"Yep."_

 _He lingered in the doorway, scanning over all the marks and flecks of old paint on the battered wood of the doorframe. He was dismissed a minute later by yet another over-exaggerated sigh._

 _Rick nearly ran head-on into Birdperson in the hallway. He tried to move around his friend, but Birdperson touched his shoulder with a burly feathered arm. His arm was the equivalent of a ball and chain, and Rick was suddenly rooted to the spot._

 _"Liz is at a difficult stage in her life, Rick," Birdperson murmured. "You know lacking a mother figure makes growing up even more of a trial for her."_

 _"W- woah, that's it! Thanks so much for telling me that, pal. Now everything is solved. I'll just fly up to heaven or wherever and give her mother a good talking-to for being dead, and all will be well again," Rick snarled. He wrenched his shoulder free and marched past Birdperson._

 _It was just before dawn the next day when Rick found himself sitting in Birdperson's very wooden kitchen. His ass was planted on a wooden chair, elbows sliding along a wooden table, eyes fighting drooping eyelids while staring blankly at a wooden refrigerator._

 _Shuffling feet made their way down the hall and into the kitchen. A quick dart of his eyes revealed mismatched socks on the small feet— one pink, one blue— and that was enough evidence for him to keep his mouth shut._

 _"Hey."_

 _A low rumbling sound scratched at his throat, which was parched and raw from numerous swallows of rum. Whatever stuff Birdperson had obtained and kept in his locked (yay for paper clips) cabinet was way stronger than anything legal on Earth._

 _"Dad? You alive?" For the second time, a hand settled on his shoulder. This one was much more light and gentle, like a feather, and more like a suggestion than pressure. It was the same touch her mother would give while searching his eyes and cupping the side of his jaw in her other palm—_

 _Two pairs of blue eyes flashed to the bottle of alcohol at the same time. Two hands reached, but the smaller one was swifter. She pushed the poison away, and together they watched it slide across the table and smash on the wooden floor. Rick hoped that stupid-ass wood was gouged._

 _"No," he said._

 _"What?"_

 _"I'm n- not— urp— alive. Since you asked an' all."_

 _An arm rested over his shoulders and un-brushed blonde hair tickled his cheek. It was some type of half-hearted, awkward hug. For a moment he could've sworn he was with someone else. Then the different voice spoke again._

 _"You want eggs?"_

 _He shrugged. The arm and hair slipped away, and with it the faded Polaroids of memories in his mind. The wooden fridge opened then closed, wooden dishes clunked against the wooden counter, and a flame sprang to life on the stove. Rick was starting to believe his face was wooden, too._

 _Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other at the wooden table, shoveling burned scrambled yurtschian eggs into their mouths with wooden forks. Rick ground the rubber in his mouth, his molars tiring quickly. He decided to swallow the pieces whole instead. Something flickered in his brain._

 _"She…"_

 _"Hm?" Liz glanced up from her barely-touched plate. The cobalt spark was striking in that gaze even from miles away._

 _"She was an awful cook, e- except for her scrambled eggs. Only damn thing she could make," he told her._

 _His daughter nodded, and pushed the eggs around some more. Underneath the wooden table, a piece of broken glass jabbed her big toe through the blue_ sock.

 **oo0oo**

 **Dimension: Unknown**

 **Planet: You tell me**

 **Year: 2000**

The car's wheels roar hot against the asphalt while the wind screams in Beth's ears.

"Please!" she yells, voice battling for leverage against the angry noises. Her feet slam down on the road again and again, pain stinging them from the sudden harsh impact after many minutes spent trudging along. She jumps and waves her arms, eyes fixed on the car as it approaches.

"Stop! Please!"

The car speeds right past, her hair billowing behind her as she reels in the hot tar fumes. Then she takes up sprinting again, following after the retreating vehicle.

When it slows down some feet ahead, a smile stretches over her numb lips. She moves onward, grass poking at her ankles and sun scowling at her skin.

The car idles on the shoulder, lying in wait like a predator among the tall grass. Beth staggers up to it and raps tired knuckles on the glass of the driver's window. It rolls down to show a harried-looking young man probably close to her age. He has shaggy brown hair and brown eyes rimmed with purplish circles. He looks like he was beat up, but as shrimpy as he is, she thinks the discoloration is more from exhaustion than anything.

His jaw drops slightly when his frowning gaze lands on her. "Wha… how—"

The words dancing anxiously just behind her teeth can no longer wait, so she cuts him off. "I'm sorry, sir, but I really need some help. If you wouldn't mind giving me a ride to the nearest gas station or something, I would appreciate it a lot." He hesitates a little too long for her liking, so she tosses in a stiff smile and a few eyelash bats.

"D- do you… um, happen to have a, uh, an identical twin or something?"

That is… a different response than what she was expecting. "No," she says. "Anyway, will you help me?" Her fingers clasp the laser gun on her hip.

He lets out a slow breath, looks at his lap, then bites his lip before meeting her eyes again. "Sure." Her fingers let go.


End file.
